


What's good for you is good for me (baby, you're so good for me)

by 44TayLo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Allusions to past S&M, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Sex, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/44TayLo/pseuds/44TayLo
Summary: "That was the answer Tony was looking for, apparently, because in the next moment, he’s in Bruce’s space, hands placed in a surprisingly chaste position. They’re resting on either shoulder, fingers digging gently into tense muscles.'You like being called a ‘good boy?’”Bruce has a praise kink that neither he nor Tony knew about. They discover it quite accidentally.





	What's good for you is good for me (baby, you're so good for me)

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic I didn't mean to write, but just sort of happened anyway.

“According to the model,” Bruce says, his eyes squinting at the screen in front of him, “these proposed changes will up the arc’s efficiency by 10%.”

“Look at you, barely glancing at the blueprints and already improving my designs like a good boy.”

The words, tossed carelessly and unthinkingly like so many of Tony’s rapid-fire comments, knock the wind out of Bruce. It’s like he’s been waiting to hear those words his whole life, his dick suddenly hard and aching, brain filtering out everything that isn’t those words. The cotton in his brain reminds him, almost, of when he’d been with Monica. But without the fear or pain.

“Banner? Banner, you alright?”

Bruce blinks Tony’s unsure grin into focus. “I. Uh...” Apparently, his brain still isn’t online. It could have something to do with the way his blood had all rushed southward at Tony’s joking remark. It could have something to do with the unpleasant memories that are threatening to break through the static.

Tony notices, of course. Bruce can tell by the way his smirk falls for just a moment, replaced by concern, before being replaced yet again by lascivious delight. “You want some help with that, precious?”

 _Precious_. Bruce shivers, his hips trying to rock forward of their own accord. The response is embarrassing and hyperreactive to such a simple statement. Bruce is quickly finding that he doesn’t care.

That was the answer Tony was looking for, apparently, because in the next moment, he’s in Bruce’s space, hands placed in a surprisingly chaste position. They’re resting on either shoulder, fingers digging gently into tense muscles.

“You like being called a ‘good boy?’”

His cock pulses. “Yes,” Bruce manages to whisper.

Tony leans in, expression serious and eyes impossible to look away from, until Bruce physically can’t see them from where Tony is whispering in his ear.

“You want to be good for me?”

Distantly, Bruce thinks he should be embarrassed by the enthusiastic sound that spills from his mouth. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, before the noise is swallowed up by Tony. The kiss is bruising, yet Tony’s hands are achingly gentle, and Bruce has no hope of taking control. The sole time he tries, Tony yanks pleasantly on his hair, shifting his head so that he can mouth at his neck.

Bruce never thought he’d enjoy being marked, before. There’s that small part of him that says he’s going to be embarrassed, later, when the other Avengers see the dark red mark peeking out from beneath his shirt collar. But right now, he doesn’t care. He can’t care. The only thing he needs is Tony. Tony’s praise, his affection, it’s like a drug, and Bruce knows his thoughts are slurred and fleeting, his mind not as sharp as it normally is, and yet he feels like he’s seeing both Tony and himself clearly for the first time.

The kissing seems to last forever, mounting Bruce’s desire for release, until it’s almost tantamount to his need to please Tony. It’s easy to fall into this, though. Tony moves him the way he wants, and Bruce doesn’t have to worry about messing up. About not being good. Just being here for Tony is good and makes him good.

When Tony moves his lips from skin for the first time in minutes, he whispers in Bruce’s ear, “Do you want me to blow you? Fuck you? Hold you? Whatever you want, we’ll do it, but we’re going to do it my way, and you’re going to be so good for me.”

A strangled moan escapes Bruce’s lips. He’s on his knees the moment Tony pulls back enough for him to do so (later, he’ll realize Tony was probably trying to give him space to come to a decision), clumsier than usual hands undoing Tony’s belt and fly with desperate movements.

He wants to please Tony. He wants to make him happy. Wants to be _good_ , and to hear Tony tell him that he’s—

Tony gasps when he takes his cock between his lips. “Perfect. So fucking perfect,” Tony huffs in between labored breaths. “You, ah, you’re such a good boy. So beautiful.”

Tony’s words are like nectar, like broth on a stomach too long empty. Bruce needs this. He’s been starved of it his whole life, and he knows he needs it, but it’s painfully good. Overwhelming.

Bruce thought it was Tony’s touch he craved, but instead it’s his words that are burning through him until he’s wrung inside out. He’s vulnerable, like when Hulk comes out, but not, because this kind of vulnerability feels like freedom and doesn’t leave him ashamed and angry and _exposed_.

“Baby. Baby, don’t cry.”

Even those words, the gentle hands that pull him off of Tony and the thumbs that wipe away his tears, fill him near to bursting. He hadn’t even realized he was crying, until now, so intent on his quest for Tony’s pleasure and chasing the feeling that’s growing in his head and chest

“So sensitive,” Tony murmurs into Bruce’s hair once he’s maneuvered him into his arms. “It’s okay. That’s a good thing. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

Gentle fingers card through his hair, over his skin, leaving fire in their wake. It’s not pain. It’s better than pain, and Bruce is still crying even as he ruts against Tony, out of his mind and yet firmly inside its strangely silent confines.

He’s being guided again, this time to lay on the floor with Tony straddling him, leaning over him, with his hands loosely pinning Bruce’s own above his head. Tony calls him beautiful, and he moans, he calls him brave, and he can’t lift his head anymore. It’s okay, because Tony has him. That’s what Tony says, anyway, and in Tony’s embrace, he does feels safe.

Bruce’s next moment of clarity is fleeting, his pleasure and the right, swelling feeling in his chest consuming his brain and setting fire to any and all thoughts. He knows, though, that Tony is gently fucking into him (later, he’ll be grateful Tony keeps lube in the lab), driving him so slowly to the edge, he can’t help but whimper again.

Tony’s talking. He’s been talking this whole time, but now Bruce can hear the content of this soothing balm.

“Let me catch you, this time.” Tony’s words are ragged, and he must be close. Keeping himself from coming just for Bruce. “So precious. Trust me, baby, I have you.”

A whimper, but no shame.

“Love you.” The statement is punctuated by Tony’s hand wrapping around his dick, his rhythm speeding up. “No one’s ever going to hurt you while I’m around. I’d never let anyone hurt my good boy.”

Bruce’s whole body shudders, set aflame by gentle touches and gentler words, arching into safety. Into love. It feels like a blessing, a decades old sob, a breakthrough.

When his brain is fully functioning again, he’ll think he remembers telling Tony that he loved him, too.

His surroundings come back to him slowly. The first thing he’s aware of is something warm and wet against his stomach. It’s a rag, his cottony mind informs him, in Tony’s steady grip.

Thoughts are quickly returning, the fire quenched and leaving Bruce gasping in fresh air with fresher lungs. But with clarity comes doubt.

“So,” Tony begins, his voice gentle and fingers trailing up Bruce’s bare arm on the certainly unsanitary lab floor. “Should we talk about the giant green rage-monster in the room?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bruce replies. Even he can tell it’s a lie, his voice quiet and raw and shuddering.

“You got hard because I called you a ‘good boy.’”

Bruce winces even as his cock tries to jerk again at just that. He shouldn’t be this affected by simple praise. Tony shouldn’t have to take care of him.

“It was incredibly hot.”

Bruce blinks at that, hesitant, and yet welcoming the surge of relief at Tony’s awed tone. “You...you liked it?”

“Of course I liked it.”

Bruce isn’t sure this reaction is as much of a given as Tony’s tone implies it is. He’s silent for a long moment, his mind functioning on all cylinders, but still unusually peaceful.

“You’re sure?” he finally whispers.

“Absofuckinglutely.”

When Bruce forces himself to look up at Tony, he sees that he’s grinning, though his eyes betray the fact that he understands the magnitude of what just happened.

It’s strangely comforting.

Bruce can’t help his own, small smile.

Though he’d love to lay here next to Tony for the rest of the day, he isn’t as young as he once was, and his back is beginning to protest the hard ground. “Let’s go upstairs and take a proper shower,” he suggests.

Tony’s already standing up after him, their clothes gathered into a pile in his hands. He pauses next to Bruce, who is holding his hands out for his dress shirt and pants. Instead of his clothes, Tony gives him a soft kiss on the cheek, barely a press of lips, before mumbling against him, “Love you.”

This time, Bruce knows without a shadow of a doubt that he said “I love you” back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
